Lionheart
by Carly Chameleon
Summary: Pure, kind, and noble. No three words fit Allura, Princess of Arus, better. Or so she believes until she strikes a seemingly harmless bargain with the Prince Imperial of Doom that will force her from the comforts of complacency, into the dark heart of the Drule court, and put those three words to the test.
1. Chapter 1

**Inevitable Disclaimer: Voltron, its characters, settings, and other concepts are property of/copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd., Toei Animation Company, and Devil's Due Publishing. I am affiliated with none of those and make no profit from this work of fiction. In other words, please, _please_ don't sue me.**

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and I'm sure it'll show. Feel free to let me know what you think I'm doing wrong, what I might be doing right, or any thoughts you have in between that may improve this story. I tried to preserve some of the original aspects to the characters and worlds, while bending or even breaking others. While I mention certain events from the DotU storyline, I plan to veer pretty far from the beaten path—this tale features the dreaded Lotor/Allura pairing, for example. There will also be some characters of my own creation showing up eventually.**

**Expect some strong language, violence, sex (I'll warn you of that third one at the start of a chapter). We may even hit some morally grey or dark patches. These things happen in stories, I'm told. If you can live with all of that, then let's begin…**

"_Dulath nakar_. Farewell."

She paused, gazing sadly at her swiftly fading patient. "_Dulath nakar_," she intoned. Taking a deep breath, she raised her scalpel, positioned it over her charge's midsection, and made the first incision.

"_Baylarn_. I am sorry, forgive me."

Tiny droplets of sweat started to bead her forehead. Not too deeply, she reminded herself. Cut to cure, not to kill. Her hand held steady as it guided the scalpel around a curve. Just a little more…

"_Baylarn_. I am sorry, forgive me."

The soft female voice was a faint echo outside the realm of her concentration. Here came the critical part. If she didn't angle the blade properly she would damage the patient, the infection would spread, and all this would be for nothing. Scarcely daring to breathe, she bit her lip, said a silent prayer, and went to make the final cut.

A trio of brash buzzes shattered her focus halfway through. Her hand jerked and her pulse seized up as the scalpel scratched a jagged line across her patient's silvery-green bark.

"Damn it!" Allura cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide at her own outburst. She glanced around her sitting room, half-expecting Nanny or Coran to leap out from behind the drapes and give her an earful for her foul language.

"Incorrect answer," the contralto voice of the castle computer's AI scolded her in their stead. "Drule language program, section two, basic phrases, failed. Please resume the lesson from the beginning."

Two failures in one. Setting down the scalpel with a groan, the princess of Arus looked down at her botched handiwork. She'd almost managed to cut away all the fungal growth plaguing her miniature virtis tree, but as Keith had so often reminded them during maneuvers, almost wasn't good enough. Unless she removed all the sickly yellow nubs marring its trunk, more would spring up until it rotted inside and out. Of course, thanks to the computer's interruption there would be a fresh rash of them all along the plant's new scratch.

"Please resume Drule language program, section two, basic phrases, from the beginning."

Ignoring the AI's demands, she let her shoulders slump. She'd looked through every book, every computer file, and even had Coran contact a few botanists at the Arusian Bureau of Agriculture. None held an alternative answer to curing the fungus. Maybe Pidge could think of something, though plants weren't the pilot of Green Lion's area of scientific expertise. Whatever the case, she had to do _something_. She'd had the small tree for fifteen years now—since her parents had surprised her with it on her fifth birthday. Back when all the Drule Empire had done was threaten, Voltron still slept, and they were a happy, whole family.

Losing their gift would be like losing them all over again.

Flicking back a few blonde wisps of hair that had plastered themselves to her forehead, Allura sighed and lifted the plant from her desk by its ceramic pot. She'd work on the problem tomorrow, once she'd had some rest. And, she hoped, when the weather cooled down a bit. Spring wasn't quite over yet, but the summer was already promising to break temperature records. Luckily, her bedroom faced east, so it only caught the sun for half the day. Leaving the entrance to the terrace open to catch the evening breeze worked nearly as well as the air cooling systems too. Ailing tree in hand, she crossed over into her bedroom and out through the glass double doors.

"Please resume Drule language program, section two, from the beginning," the computer nagged after her.

"All right, all right!" she snapped. "Just let me put this back outside."

After setting the sickly virtis tree back on its wooden stand at one corner of the terrace, Allura took a minute to enjoy the cool evening air against her skin. Or at least what little skin her pink nightgown allowed to show: face, neck, hands, feet, and an oh-so-tantalizing glimpse of ankle. She really had to talk to Nanny about making some changes to her wardrobe. She was twenty now—her childhood governess had to realize that. Surely the woman would see reason and agree that it was high time for the princess of Arus to start wearing clothing that befit the dignity of her status. Something that had fewer bows and ruffles and didn't make her feel like she hadn't lost her baby teeth yet, in other words.

Allura smiled drily at the pale, rising face of Arus' largest moon. Yes, and maybe Zarkon would suddenly become a pacifist and send robeasts to plant flowers on her planet instead. Nanny would blow her prim white cap through the atmosphere as soon as the topic came up—the woman still had her reservations over the propriety of her "baby's" favorite pink outfit. _It may not give away all the details, but it certainly lets them have the outlines_, had been her famous quote from that battle. Shaking her head, Allura padded back into her bedroom. She'd throw down the gauntlet over dress code some other week. Maybe once she could get her cousin Romelle and Aunt Orla to visit and provide some back up. And yes, a little backbone too.

"Let's get this over with. Computer, resume Drule language program, section two," she said, heading for the desk in her sitting room again.

"Basic phrases," the computer responded with what she swore was a hint of glee. "_Ahdahn_. Hello."

She started gathering the bits of removed fungus into a little pile on top of her desk to be thrown away. "_Ahdahn_."

"Actually, it's _AH_-dahn—more emphasis on the first syllable. And hello to you too, my dear princess."

Her heart dropped, then bounced back up like a rubber ball, wedging itself in the back of her throat. As though she were in one of the old horror movies Lance kept in his extensive film collection, Allura slowly turned to face the monster in her room.

He certainly didn't look the part, she had to admit.

His frame filled the doorway to her bedroom—not even Hunk was as broad. Just casually leaning against the jamb, he was tall enough for his head to nearly brush the top, the dimensions meant for someone of human proportions. It had always struck her as ironic that he hailed from such a dark planet yet his skin was the color of Arus' summer sky. The night air wafting in from the terrace stirred his white hair, several long strands falling over his shoulders. He watched her with eyes as bright and gold as flame. Their slatted pupils widened to capture more light, similar to a cat's stalking prey. Allura felt paralyzed by his gaze for a minute, her heart fluttering against her ribcage like a panicking bird.

He blinked, and the paralysis snapped, her sense returning. Shaking herself, she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Computer!" she shouted. "Sound the security al—"

How someone that large could move so swiftly and silently, she'd never comprehend. He'd crossed the sitting room by her third word. On the fourth, she felt his hand clamp over her mouth. The other gripped the back of her head, fingers burrowing into her bound hair. Her nose filled with the scent of fine leather from his glove with just a hint of machine oil, likely from the battle cruiser he had hidden somewhere in the woods nearby. He pressed in close, pushing her backside against the desk and cutting off escape.

"I'm thrilled to see you as well, Allura. Though, for once I'd appreciate it if you offered me something to drink when I drop by. Sneaking across the castle grounds and scaling the wall to your room undetected is thirsty work," Lotor, Prince Imperial of Doom, said. It was bad enough having to look at his trademark smirk filling up the castle control room's comm screen, but in person it was even more galling, if smaller.

Allura jerked her head and released angry sounds against his glove. Tightening her hands into fists, she hammered them against his chest, trying to reach his face. It felt as if she were striking stone, and all she got for the effort were low chuckles.

That's when she remembered the scalpel.

Making a mental note to thank Dr. Gourma twice over, Allura brought one hand behind her to grope along the top of the desk. The other she kept busy smacking away at Lotor in the hopes that he wouldn't notice what she was up to. Her fingers bumped into the pile of severed fungus, some blank papers left over from earlier in the afternoon, and—there. Cold steel. She grasped the scalpel, praying the sharp end was facing out.

Eyes squeezed shut, she struck.

Something caught her wrist halfway through its flashing arc. Eyes snapping open, she saw it had been taken captive by Lotor's grip. Stare locked with hers, he applied pressure until she thought her hand would swell up like a purple-red balloon, all circulation cut off. Allura watched, tears of frustration blurring her vision, as the scalpel began to slip from her numbing fingers.

"No…" she gasped.

Then gasped again when realization sparked in her mind: his hand no longer muffled her. She sucked in another breath, ready to scream to the computer to sound an alarm.

Unfortunately, carelessness wasn't among Lotor's many faults.

Her shouted command became a muted squeal as he sealed his lips to hers. Shock jolted through her, and the scalpel finally tumbled to the carpet. While he eased up on her wrist, he gave no quarter elsewhere. She tried to twist her head to one side or the other, but the hand that cradled the back of her skull kept her still while he kissed and even nibbled her tightly closed lips. It tickled, and she actually felt a crazy giggle bubble in her throat.

Just when her head started to swim from lack of air, he replaced his mouth with his palm once more. Breathing hard through her nose, Allura wished she were that hideous creature from an old film in Lance's collection—the one that had snakes for hair and could turn people to stone with a look. Lotor would have been decorating a corner of the gardens within the hour. Better yet, smashed to so much gravel and scattered at the bottom of the lake around the castle.

Lotor returned her glare with a gleam in his eyes and an even more infuriating smile on his lips. "I'm going to remove my hand now. I trust you'll behave and refrain from making a further fuss?"

In a way, it was fortunate he'd covered her mouth. She would have blushed to hear some of the words in her reply clearly and ruined the whole effect.

"Well then. I suppose I'll have to kiss you until you see things my way, won't I?"

Was there anything else on her desk to bash or stab him with? There was that heavy book on the founding of Arus, but it was too far back, out of her reach. A shame—nothing would have been more just than slapping her people's tormentor across his smug face with their history.

Some of the humor drained out of Lotor's expression, leaving it almost grave. "I'm here to talk, Allura. That should be harrowing enough without bringing your boy warriors and castle security into the equation."

Talk! She'd heard that punchline before. When he'd first taken over the incursions against Arus, after he'd destroyed the bridge over the Chozzarai River, on Planet Tyrus during the whole birthday debacle—talk was always on the bottom of Lotor's to-do list. Allura condensed her thoughts into a snort.

"I thought you might feel that way," he said with a grim smile. "Allow me to phrase it differently then. Either we can talk in relative comfort like rational people, or I can find something to gag you with. It's your choice."

Though not a person quick to anger by nature, Allura felt a hot flare of resentment spike her blood pressure. He invaded her world, slunk into her room, manhandled her, and now thought he could issue ultimatums? She would teach him that there was _always_ a third option.

But step one had to succeed before the rest. First, she had to get him to let her go.

Releasing a sigh through her nose, Allura nodded with just the right amount of resignation. Life with Nanny had elevated her skill in that to an art form. Sure enough, inch by inch, Lotor moved his hand away. He kept his stare trained on her face, watching for any twitch of insurrection. She gave him the expected glare of moral outrage—anything less and he might have cottoned on. Like actors, they both had their roles: he the victorious villain, and she the defeated yet defiant damsel. If she played along he would never see what Lance called the twist ending.

At last Lotor gave her a little breathing space, literally and figuratively. With a causal air she didn't trust for a second, he folded his arms across his chest.

"There. You and I standing in the same room like civilized, sentient beings. And look—the planet didn't even stop turning."

No, but its pollution levels had definitely risen. She made a point of wiping a sleeve across her lips. "You claim you came here to talk," she said, putting the snooty, high-born lady tone Nanny had schooled her in to use for once. "So talk."

He pressed a hand over his heart, expression a parody of sincerity. "Your enthusiasm is touching, Princess. But I suppose haste is called for. Your self-righteous brat bodyguards have an irritating habit of interrupting us."

Despite the observation, Lotor took the time for a dramatic pause. Allura had to wonder how there could be enough space in one room to accommodate her, him, and his massive ego.

"I've come to the realization that I've been going about this the wrong way," he went on, nonchalantly causing her thoughts to derail.

Allura replayed the words over and over, rearranging them in every possible combination, but her mind refused to absorb them. She had to resort to a rather high-pitched, "Excuse me?"

The way he set his jaw and slightly dilated his pupils was his version of looking uncomfortable she realized. "I once read the works of a particularly famous Terran scientist. A brilliant man—decades ahead of his time. He once defined insanity as repeating the same action yet expecting a different result. I've come to the conclusion that I've been proving him right."

In the absence of logical thought, emotion rushed in the fill the void. Allura's expression froze over. "And what triggered this epiphany to strike exactly, hm? Seeing the faces of my people as your fleets and robeasts terrorize them? Watching our crops burn? Reducing our homes and businesses to smoldering rubble?"

His pupils widened a fraction more, but his gaze didn't shy away from the challenge in hers. "Like many of my most important decisions, it was made with you in mind."

A retort gushed up her throat like magma erupting from a molten core, but became lodged there, scorching, choking her. Did he expect her to, what? Feel flattered? _Grateful?_ Or, following the crooked path his logic always took, did he blame her for his obsession? Either way, she wanted to disagree in terms of bare knuckles and cold metal. Terms even a barbarian like him couldn't fail to grasp.

At least some of that desire must have been transcribed on her face because Lotor held up his hands in a universal gesture of concession. "Though your current opinions would never allow the idea to take root, I do care about you."

She couldn't help it. Allura laughed. A harsh, ringing sound like a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Lotor bore her show of scorn with the stoic grace of a martyr, waiting for her to wind down to giggles before continuing.

"That's how I came to realize I've been using the wrong tactics when it comes to you."

Tactics. As though she were a fortress to invade. The last traces of humor evaporated from her face.

"So you finally figured out that trying to own me like some limited edition collector's item is a bad thing? And it only took you a little over an Arusian year. Congratulations."

"It's never been about _having_ you, Allura."

Words couldn't express her contempt—at least not the clean kind. She solved the dilemma with a dignified huff.

Lotor's brows drew down like a swooping white bird over his eyes. "If that were the case, I assure you, we wouldn't be having this pleasant little chat. I'd be pinning you down on that adorable pink bed of yours and fucking you until the canopy collapsed on top of us."

His words popped the illusion of relative safety she'd blundered into. The very real threat of him, his size, his nearness, his frank tone and gaze, swept over her. Allura felt her muscles petrify, cold dread trickling down her spine to gather in a frozen lump inside her guts. He was the second biggest threat to ever loom over Arus, the son of her father's murderer and a killer himself, and obsessed with making her his. She needed to create an opportunity to drive him off, not pelt him with snarky quips all night.

"Point taken," she said, voice carefully neutral and, she hoped, placating. "So what…tactics…are you planning to employ now?"

He studied her tripwire tense posture for several moments. "I've come to make a request," he answered at last, mimicking her tone. "Not a demand, nor a threat. A request, plain and simple."

Paying her for favors. She couldn't imagine how that might add up to disaster. Keeping a tight leash on the sarcasm, she said, "Really?"

Her grip apparently hadn't been firm enough because a small frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, Allura, really. Starting tomorrow, I will feed information on the comings and goings of my father's cargo freighters, his top military officials, the weaknesses of certain bases, and all manner of goodies the Alliance could only dream of. If, that is, you find my request agreeable."

Allura caught her jaw before it fell open completely. Inside intelligence hand delivered by the Prince Imperial himself? That, as Lance would put it, was nothing to thumb her nose at. Assuming Lotor's offer contained anything resembling truth. Her surprise matured into suspicion.

"What price tag comes attached to this generous offer?" Only five easy payments of her self-respect probably—insult to injury included.

Lotor looked away, out toward the velvety blue that had spread beyond her bedroom windows. The command for the computer to sound the alarm sprung to the tip of her tongue.

And teetered there, hesitating.

Not due to any actual interest in his hollow offer—she'd be out of her mind to entertain for a second that he might risk treason and change his ways for anything, let alone some harmless favor. It was just that he still stood within arm's reach. He needed to be farther away. More preoccupied.

Or maybe…well, maybe if she heard him out—_pretended_ to, of course—and acted like she agreed to his mad request, he would leave quietly. Then she could alert the rest of the castle. Perhaps the Voltron Force could capture him before he got off world in the bargain. Yes. Yes! His intrusion turned into a victory for Arus. An example of making the best of a terrible situation if she'd ever heard one.

"I want you to give me a chance."

Lotor's voice, almost a sigh, caught her midway through her mental pat on the back. Allura jumped a little, her plot fraying at the seams. "I…you _what?_"

His eyes flicked over to rendezvous with hers before they darted back to the window. "Information to thwart my father's operations in exchange for you and I getting to interact beyond firing missiles and laser cannons at each other. It's a reasonable request. More than reasonable. It's profitable for Arus."

Though she stayed silent, tilting her head in a show of thought, it wasn't to chew on what he'd tried to feed her. The second she heard it her mind spit the poisonous notion out. Oh, the offer would be profitable for her planet in the short term, no doubt. But the one who stood to gain the most from the Voltron Force and Alliance chipping away at Zarkon's power was currently looming over her, one boot tapping on her carpet as he waited for her response. With the old space pirate preoccupied by dwindling resources and soaring defeats, he'd probably never notice his son creeping up from behind until Lotor's sword ran right through him.

She was young, maybe naïve at times, but Allura didn't qualify for stupid.

Lotor didn't need to know that, though. Victory was all he had eyes for.

"You and I interacting. What sort of…interaction did you have in mind?" She had to control her gag reflex while she said it.

Lotor released a long-suffering sigh. "Contrary to what I can almost hear you thinking, no, I don't mean sex." His lids grew hooded, eyes flickering like candleflames beneath them. "Though I've thought about it, Princess. Often," he confessed in a low voice that she swore took on substance, gliding across the gap between them to brush against her skin.

Wishing she had an extra layer of clothing on, Allura folded her arms across her chest. She had to lick her dry lips twice before speaking. "So what then?" Her voice had too much in common with the castle's mice.

He didn't lose the hungry predator expression. "You were practicing Drule when I came in, weren't you?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat around her thumping pulse. "The Alliance's translators felt they had a deep enough understanding of your language to release a learning program."

"Well, they were wrong. Any Drule child off of his or her mother's teat could have told them as much."

Allura welcomed the wave of annoyance, letting it scour away her nerves. "What does—"

"I can teach you."

Arus' sworn enemy and would-be conqueror tutoring her in his people's speech. She could see it now. Lesson one: How to address one's Drule masters properly.

"And how are you planning on doing this?" she asked, more to keep the ball rolling than from any belief he intended to follow through with the offer. "Should I have a ladder installed on my balcony?"

A thin smile stretched his lips. "Appreciated, Allura, but a bit too conspicuous, I think. I'll let myself in, thank you. I've never had too much trouble in the past, after all."

She dug her nails into her palms to refrain from slapping the hint of a smirk off his face. "And are you going to keep up the tradition of popping in unannounced, or will you tell me when I should expect you?"

Allura anticipated hearing anything from a long list of excuses and evasions.

The answer he gave wasn't among them.

"Tomorrow I will send you—via a third party, of course—your first gift of information. From there, I'll call on you, let us say…three Arusian days afterward? In the evening, like now. That should give you plenty of time to prepare a trap for me, should the mood strike."

Her mouth opened to release a soothing denial, but Lotor staved it off with a raised hand.

"You're no fool, Allura. You don't believe a word I've said up to this point. Talk, as you humans have noted, is cheap. Only actions will suffice here."

He leaned down, an avalanche of white hair spilling over his shoulders. Allura pressed herself into the desk to avoid it brushing against her. At that range, she could feel his warm breath on her suddenly clammy skin, and see her pale reflection in the dark mirrors of his widened pupils. Her heart felt like an icy hand had clamped around it.

"I put my faith in you, Princess. I do it in the hope that one day you might do the same for me."

Her tongue did nothing but trip over itself while he turned on one heel with military precision and strode out of her room without a second glance. She heard nothing—no drapes being pulled aside, no click from the glass doors, or scrapes against the stone terrace. Only a lingering whiff of fine leather and the taste of his lips on hers provided proof she hadn't hallucinated the entire encounter.

_You're no fool, Allura._

The alarm. She needed to alert security and the guys before Lotor got away.

_I'll call on you, let us say…three Arusian days after?_

Instead of shouting at the top of her lungs, Allura found herself headed for the balcony. She swiped aside the drapes, feet slapping on the cool stone as she hurried to the balustrade. Moonlight edged the grass and foliage in silver. Shattered into millions of glittering ripples on the surface of the surrounding lake. No sign of the Prince Imperial shone in the darkness. But unless he had sprouted wings somehow, it would take time for him to get to his cruiser. All she had to do was give the word.

_I put my faith in you, Princess…_

Allura's hands squeezed the railing until the knuckles became as white as its stone.

That…that smug…devious…_blankety blank_. He knew she could reject him. That she could resist personal or even political gain.

But she couldn't deny her own better nature.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Many, many thanks to TheBigZ1984, ebon-drake, Drowningblonde, Guest, and Amanda Ferguson for the reviews and favs! Also, special thanks to EarthFae for providing inspiration for names!

The farther he got from her, the harder Lotor had to fight the urge to run right back.

Pushing past his initial hesitation, he sprang onto the balustrade, twisted around, and leapt up to grab the rope that dangled above Allura's balcony. Boots planted against the gleaming wall, he began to scale the side of the castle. After about twenty feet, he allowed himself to pause and glance down.

Allura stood below, her hair shining like a patch of sunlight that had refused to depart with the arrival of night. Lotor felt his resolve start to corrode. A short drop and he could have her in his arms. Inhale the clean, sweet scent of her hair and skin. Feel the soft warmth of her lips against his. He could stretch her out on the bed, make her understand with each caress of his fingertips, the curl of his tongue, and every thrust of his hips what he couldn't with words.

Which was exactly the sort of thinking that had gotten him nowhere up to that point. Allura had made it clear that she would accept nothing from someone she'd called—on multiple occasions—a monster. She needed to see that he possessed more facets than just his reputation and heritage.

In order for that to happen, though, he had to follow the plan. Advice that he found easier to serve than swallow.

Gritting his teeth, Lotor forced himself to turn away from the temptation waiting below. He was Prince Imperial of the Galra Empire. A warrior of _Jui Kuhalth*_. He'd faced death dozens of times on land, in the air and the void of space. Wars, assassins, high holiday dinners with his father and relatives—he had emerged victorious (or at least somewhat sane) from them all. Walking away from one human girl didn't even rank as an inconvenience by comparison.

So said his head. His heart held a different opinion. As did other parts of him—arousal had to be the worst condition for clambering up a hundred foot wall. Suppressing a growl, Lotor redirected his seething energies into climbing. The repetitive motion and exertion helped subdue his rioting emotions. By the time he'd gained the parapet at the top of the castle he was master of himself again. Mostly. The desire to turn back still grumbled in the recesses of his mind, but he ignored it in favor of walking over to his SC-324 Wind Rider.

No good could come of pressing the matter he consoled himself while he donned his flight jacket and goggles, then unfolded the glider's hand grips. If Allura hadn't already run to that Garrison marionette Kogane and had half the castle up in arms, returning to her quarters would mean breaking his word. Any trust that might have been born between them would be aborted, and he'd be faced with the one thing he'd refused to accept his whole life: failure.

Flexible frame of the glider infinitely lighter than his mood, Lotor approached the parapet again. He pressed the two small buttons on the sides of the hand grips, hearing a faint whisper of fabric as the synthetic material of the wings unfurled and snapped into place. The wind blew out of the north, tugging at his artificial pinions and making the lions emblazoned on the flags atop each of the castle's towers dance. An excellent night for flying.

"I'll be back for you, Allura," Lotor whispered to the warm glow of her light far below. "You know I will."

Before doubt could take hold again, he leapt out into the night. The thrill of weightlessness, of hanging suspended with nothing between him and hard, unforgiving earth but air, rushed through him for one gleaming moment. Gravity reasserted its authority during the next. The wind caught him just as he started to dip, and the glider's guidance system responded, calibrating adjustments and relaying them to his wings. Safely airborne, he pressed another button under his index finger to activate the cloaker. He caught a faint shimmer out of the corner of his eye and felt the prickle of an active energy field along his skin and clothing. The only thing the Arusian citizens beneath him _might_ see—if they bothered looking to the sky at all—was the silhouette of a winged humanoid. They would probably believe they had glimpsed one of the divine messengers from their mythology. A smirk eased the troubled line of his mouth. Irony had a way of following him.

Most of the seditious thoughts fell away as he soared over the Arusian landscape. The silver-speckled velvet of the lake gave way to dense tufts of forest. Such a pretty place. Like its princess, much of Arus' charm lay in its raw potential, its untamed spirit. Even before his father had blasted much of the planet's tech back to a primitive level, the inhabitants had been happy to work and build with or around nature rather than bend it to their wills. They never grasped for more, content to live and let live. Peaceful. Complacent. Ignorant. Destined to be conquered or destroyed.

It was the price for living a lie.

The wind carried him north, where the forest gave way to grassy hills and pale cliffs. He landed between two of the former and let the glider's wings fold up. From there, it was a moderate hike to the top of the cliff where his battle cruiser waited.

When he exited Arus' atmosphere without sight or sound of the Lions, Lotor felt nearly-forgotten hope kindle within him. He had won the first round at least.

For once, the Prince Imperial set about the task of returning home with a smile on his face.

The second thing he'd nearly forgotten: warping while in a cruiser instead of a carrier was much less comfortable and much more disorienting. Jumping down to the floor of the castle's main hanger and stretching his legs proved to be a wobbly, awkward experience. Few were around to witness his rubber-kneed return: only a handful of technicians who were busy repairing another craft, the soldiers on duty at the exits, and a lone officer standing by the westernmost of these. When he approached the latter (his stride steady once again) the man bent into a bow that wasn't quite as deep as that of the two guards.

"Greetings, Imperial Highness," the officer said, rising. Standing straight, his calm gaze came level with Lotor's. "I'm glad to see you well. I trust your flight was a pleasant one?"

"Pleasant enough, Commander Saffrin," he answered, tone light. Stepping past, he motioned for the other man to follow.

The castle's halls were quiet except for the matching clomp of their boots against the polished black stone of the floor. Even so, Lotor waited until they had entered his chambers, the doors shut and locked behind them, before speaking again.

"So, did the old pirate notice my absence?"

Saffrin flopped down into his usual overstuffed chair by the bookshelves. "Oh, yes, but not for the reason you might think."

Going behind the bar, Lotor poured himself a glass of chilled wine. "I'll vomit if you say he had a change of heart and misses me." Or he would attempt to at least—it had been over several hours since his last meal.

"Your gag reflex can rest easy," Saffrin replied. "No, His Majesty just idly wondered where you'd gotten off to because you weren't at lunch to witness him…_chastise_ Lady Brilka in front of everyone."

A grimace twisted his face, but not from the wine. "Then I'm twice as glad I was gone. I doubt there's enough alcohol in the universe to erase such an image from my brain."

"Oh, I don't know. It was rather amusing, seeing the conniving bitch forced face down in the main course while the emperor, ah, made his point."

And there went his appetite. "Amusing for you maybe—he isn't your damn father, so it's not incest by association. I'd almost feel sorry for Brilka if she hadn't tried to serve me poisoned cake when I was a child." He downed the rest of the wine, poured himself another glass, and went to take the chair opposite his friend.

Saffrin ran his fingers through his short crop of dark blue hair. "She was never that kind to me—all I got were threats of castration if she caught me in her son's bed again."

Lotor smirked. "To be fair, she'd caught you in bed with her daughter the week before. Her married daughter."

"She told me to keep my hands off of Luca, so I did." He shrugged. "She never said I couldn't put them on anyone else in her family."

Ah, the reckless days of their youth. Taking a sip from his glass, Lotor shook his head. "So my father really doesn't suspect what I'm up to yet?"

"For all anyone knows, you flew off to sulk over him banning you from leading another fleet to Arus. He didn't bring up the subject of commanding one himself again, you might be pleased to know."

He wasn't, not exactly. His father didn't forget or miss things anywhere near as easily as some of the court liked to believe—a lesson he had taught Brilka quite thoroughly that day. No, the old man meant to make good on his threat sooner or later. The Voltron Farce believed they'd tasted the worst the empire had to offer, a notion he'd fostered by holding back for Allura's sake. Not for the first time, he questioned the wisdom of his benevolent decision.

Voltron was formidable. It was unique. But it couldn't stop a planet-wide invasion, anti-matter bombs, chemical and biological agents released into the atmosphere—or any of the lovely methods of annihilation that had made his father a household name. In short, Allura and her team of ragtag rejects were one order away from becoming footnotes in his father's biography. He glowered down into his wine as if he could divine the future from it.

Pupils sharpening as he caught the thoughts betrayed by Lotor's face, Saffin arched his eyebrows. "Grieving gods, don't start brooding on me. I have to hear about how handsome you are enough as it is—I don't want to contemplate the affect your pouty mouth will have on the empire."

"This plan has to work," he said, refusing to be goaded into cheering up. "We aren't ready to win a civil war. Not yet."

"Have you considered falling in love with a more obtainable woman? A death maiden** or a goddess perhaps?"

When all that got him was a narrow look, Saffrin held up his hands and sighed. "Did your princess seem interested in the offer at all?"

"Not until I put myself at her mercy. Before then I could have been reciting Tyrusian poetry for all she cared. She really doesn't understand what she has to gain. Or lose."

Expression shaped by sympathy, his friend nodded. "Humans do have a bad habit of getting their priorities backwards. So she really believes Arus can hold its own against a full-scale imperial invasion?"

"I didn't bring up my father's threat or the fact he's grounded me."

Saffrin's mouth dropped open. "_What?_ Why not?"

Lotor shook his head. "There's enough bad blood between her and me already. I didn't want to add 'by the way, my father is going to fry your planet until the worms choke on the ashes if you don't marry me soon' to the list. When did putting pressure on Allura ever work out in the past?"

"Point taken…but the emperor's patience is going to crumble long before the walls of her heart do."

"I _know_," Lotor said, with a shaper edge than his friend deserved. Blowing out a breath, he stared into his wine again, considered adding it to the first glassful in his stomach, and finally set it aside on an end table.

"We're just going to have to create more pressing matters to distract my father. Speaking of sabotage, any word from Vendris?"

Saffrin ran a finger slowly along the spines of the books on the shelves beside him though, like Lotor, he had read every one. "She said she has the travel coordinates of a certain imperial freighter and is ready to send them to Arus at your command. Also, that she still thinks you're a god-cursed idiot who follows his cock like it's a compass needle. Which was practically a confession of love compared to the comments she reserved for me."

A grin split Lotor's face despite himself. In a court where people lied as often as blinked, Vendris' unsweetened honesty was an acquired taste.

"Excellent. That shouldn't be too much for the Lions to handle, and it will make the old man start to wonder how they found it."

"I don't think 'wonder' quite captures his potential reaction—not enough frothing at the mouth or beheadings," commented Saffrin, sliding a sideways look at him. "And it's bound to be directed at you first."

Folding his arms across his chest, Lotor let his face harden into a determined cast. "Better me than Allura."

His friend shook his head, but refrained from dispensing any further advice or logic. Though he might have doubted Lotor's taste in women, they had stood back to back in enough battles for faith in his plans to hold steady. Solidarity equaled better odds of success.

It also meant they would all go to the pyre together if something went wrong. Him, Saffrin, Vendris, their families, their comrades, Arus—everyone

Rather than push the rising fears and doubts back down, Lotor used them to stoke his purpose, tempering his resolve within the blaze, folding his feelings into it with every breath. He wouldn't fail. He would protect his own. Take Allura as his wife. Crush his father. And he would start by overcoming the most difficult challenge of all.

Waiting.

* Jui Kuhalth: A code or set of teachings that a Drule may choose to dedicate her or his life to. More details to come in later chapters.

** Death maiden: Figure from Drule mythology. More details to come in later chapters.

A/N the second: At this point, things are still pretty light tone-wise. I feel like I should have packed this chapter with way more information, but a) this is only the second one so I didn't want things to drag, and b) I figured I'll have plenty of opportunity to continue fleshing out characters and the Drule court as we go. *shrugs* We'll see how that works.

Speaking of characters, just because I threw in a couple of OC friends for Lotor doesn't mean I've forgotten about Cossack. I've always liked seeing him in Voltron fics, and I'm pretty sure I can find a spot for he of the horned helmet in mine, so don't despair, my fellow fans.

Chapter three will have us returning to Allura and meeting up with the Voltron Farce-er, Force. ^_^;


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Voltron, its characters, settings, and other concepts are copyrighted, trademarked, and/or property of WEP, Toei Animation, and Devil's Due Publishing. I'm affiliated with none of those, and I derive no monetary profit from this work of fiction, only nerdy joy.**

The morning sunlight streaming in through the windows did nothing to chase away the thoughts smothering Allura's mind like storm clouds. Head down, lips pressed tight, and a worried furrow sharing her brow with her customary circlet, she might have been headed to her own execution instead of breakfast.

An entire night of tossing and turning and she still couldn't say whether she'd made the worst mistake of her life. Lotor had been sincere. That much her instincts confirmed. But sincerity was like a smile: a pretty gesture that could mask a variety of meanings. Stronger forces than just a change of heart had moved Lotor to visit her last night. Nothing as straightforward as another kidnapping ploy either—he'd had her hands up and pants down, as the saying from the eastern parts of the Altean continent went. Despite the warmth of the daylight, Allura hugged herself, rubbing her arms as a chill shivered through her.

Whatever the Prince Imperial's reasons, they couldn't be good news for Arus.

The thought was punctuated by the sensation of many legs skittering up the small of her back. A shriek bursting out of her, Allura leapt forward, frantically swatting the spot, and whirled to see anything but the huge, hairy insect she'd feared.

"Lance!" she cried, tone an accusation.

She was positive he'd worn the same grin as a boy, probably while secretly dropping small creatures into girls' bags at school. He wiggled his insect-impersonating fingers at her. "Mornin', sunshine. Just checking to see if you're awake."

When her glare didn't diminish, he spread his hands in supplication. Though a faint gleam remained in his brown eyes, his expression softened into what Pidge called the puppy dog pout. "Hey, I'm sorry, Princess. I didn't mean to spook you that bad. You okay?"

Her heartbeat still pounded like a piston, but Allura felt her ire start to fade along with the adrenaline rush. Sighing, she managed a slight smile. "You probably put a gray streak in my hair, but yes, I'm all right."

Face perking back up, Lance leaned in close under the pretense of examining her bound blonde tresses. His body heat radiated through the cotton of his shirt, carrying the pleasantly combined scents of aftershave and his favorite leather jacket with it. If she just turned her head she could brush her lips right along the sculpted curve of his jaw. Allura's heart continued to thump, but for new reasons entirely.

"Hm. Looks good to me," he said as he pulled back, eyes alight with humor. And maybe a unspoken suggestion or two.

Cheeks burning, Allura released the laughter that bubbled up from her middle, dissolving what was left of her bad mood. Out of the five men who'd crash landed on Arus that day almost two years ago, becoming her protectors and later her teammates, only Lance had such an effect on her. What Nanny would have deemed outrageous familiarity served to put Allura at ease and allowed her to feel like a normal young woman, free to flirt and smile. Lance didn't see titles and lineages. Only people.

He offered her his arm. "Shall we? Hunk's probably cleared half the table by now. If we hurry we might be able to snag some leftover toast crusts."

They fell into step together. "You should talk. I seem to recall you bragging about winning a pie eating contest not too long ago." Not to mention Nanny's resulting wrath when she discovered her contributions to the annual Flower Festival had been devoured prematurely.

"Hey, that was different. A matter of manly honor."

"More like gastric suicide. Or were those retching sounds coming over someone else's comm during flight drill that day?"

"Roll your eyes all you want. But I wouldn't take it back for anything—the opportunity to seize glory doesn't cruise by every week, you know."

Allura laughed again. "I'll have to use that one if I ever do something monumentally stupid."

Clucking his tongue, Lance shook his head. "No respect. No respect at all. But enough about me. What's up with you there, Allura, Warrior Princess? You were dragging your feet like you'd just come home from an all night bar crawl. Usually you're pretty hard to get the drop on. Something must have your mental gears grinding."

For a moment, the truth trembled at the tip of her tongue. It would be such a weight off her shoulders to share it with someone—to ask what she should do.

Clenching her teeth, Allura forced herself to swallow the confession. Her relief would be forgotten once the others found out and the barrage of questions began. Why hadn't she reported Lotor's break-in immediately? Had he touched her? Was she _positive_ he hadn't tried anything? In a way, the queries, especially Nanny and Coran's, would be more intrusive than the Prince Imperial's little visit—like her chastity took precedence over everything else. Then they would start making plans as if she weren't standing in the same room. As if she were just a messenger.

Worst of all, she would feel they were right.

So, she settled for spitting up a half-truth. "I'm worried what plans Lotor might have in the works for us. Things have been awfully quiet for almost a month now."

Lance pursed his lips. "True. He hasn't even sent a robeast candy gram to show he stills cares. Maybe he found another princess to stalk?"

"Ha ha." She poked him in the arm. Hard.

Wincing, he shrugged. "Seriously, he might be distracted by something else. Maybe the Drule Supremacy finally decided to spank Daddy Dearest for ditching them and running off on his own to play emperor. I mean, the fact that one of their glorified attack dogs turned around and bit them ain't gonna slide forever. You ask me, that's why Zarkon's always had such a hard-on for—" He closed his mouth, shot her a sideways glance, and cleared his throat. "Why he's been so eager to get his hands on Voltron. To save his bacon when the time comes."

"Ah," Allura said, the word one of acknowledgement rather than acceptance. She had no doubts that Lance's speculations rang true on their own. Coupled with Lotor's actions the other night, though, they didn't quite sound right. Somehow, she got the sense that the Prince of Doom's reasons were on a much more personal level.

_I want you to give me a chance._

Like the memory was a buzzing gnat in her ear, she shook her head to drive it away. "Well, I hope it stays this way for at least another couple of weeks. I'd love to see the summer fair start up again in Leonne."

"You and me both, Princess."

Their chat saw them all the way to the dining hall. Lance escorted her to her chair at the head of the long table, partly out of courtesy, but mostly because of the look it earned from Ingrid Hys, aka Nanny. Allura's childhood governess ceased her vigil of keeping Hunk from touching the food to watch the two of them with narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils, like a mother beltra* about to charge. It was all well and good for the guys to risk their lives in service to Arus and its princess, but as far as Nanny was concerned, that didn't earn them the right to be treated as equals. Allura couldn't help smirking a little at Lance's daring as she took her seat.

Her mirth dried up when it became her turn to be scrutinized.

"You are up later than usual this morning, Highness," noted the woman, unrelenting gaze taking inventory of her charge's appearance. "Your skin is also looking wan and you have circles beneath your eyes. Are you feeling well?" She leaned over to put a palm to Allura's brow before any answer could be given.

"I'm fine." She brushed the offending hand away. "I just didn't get much sleep is all."

That sent Nanny's glare darting back to Lance, who actually flinched under its force.

Allura resisted the urge to do something she'd regret with her fork. "It's this heat wave. It keeps me from getting comfortable."

"Why not use the air conditioning?" Hunk asked. "Me and Pidge got it up and running months ago."

Allura shook her head. "I always forget or feel guilty for using the extra power. Too much time living in the underground shelters."

"Well, now we are able to resume being civilized," stated Nanny. "I cannot stress enough how dangerous it is to leave your windows open, Your Highness."

For once, Allura didn't argue.

Shuffling footsteps were heard a few seconds before Pidge came through the doorway. "Morning," he mumbled, sticking a finger up behind his tinted glasses to rub sleep from the corner of one eye. His courage being much greater than his short stature, he took the chair next to Nanny and across from Hunk.

Looking at the empty seat to her right, Allura asked, "Will Coran be joining us?"

"No," answered Nanny, straightening her cutlery a fraction. "He is taking his meal in the control room. This lull has his nerves on edge."

So she wasn't the only one who smelled something on the wind. Allura glanced at Hunk. "What about Keith?"

"Chief should be here any minute." His face turned wistful as he stared at a bowl of fruit sitting right in front of him. "He went back to his room to have a quick shower after our jog and sparring match earlier."

Allura felt the sting of jealousy. Last year she would have spent her morning doing the same thing with them, before Coran and Nanny had put a stop to it. Hand to hand combat training was unseemly for a princess they'd argued. Being raped or killed by invading Drule soldiers because she couldn't defend herself was apparently the proper thing for a lady of her station to do. Though she'd continued to practice for a few weeks more, her two well-meaning watchdogs had bled the joy from it until she'd quit.

Maybe the time had come to take martial arts up again—especially if Lotor would be calling on her.

"Would you mind me joining you guys? For practice, I mean," she said before she could talk herself out of it.

Hunk startled at little at the request, blinking, then broke into a broad smile. "Sure thing, Princess. We'd love to have you back. It'd be fun to teach instead of just getting my butt kicked by Keith for a change."

Red blotches bloomed on Nanny's cheeks. "Highness, I thought we had settled the matter of you pursuing such nonsense."

She reminded herself to keep her tone from turning defensive. "I've decided I could use a little more nonsense in my life."

Though the woman stayed silent, her expression declared war. Second thoughts started to creep up on Allura, but a covert thumbs-up from Pidge and grin from Lance drove them back. Maybe with their support she could keep her wings from being clipped a second time. She gave them a grateful smile.

"Oh, hey, speaking of nonsense," Pidge said, smoothly switching the subject's tracks away from total disaster, "I finally installed that new encryption program that the Alliance sent in the castle's communication system. Took me most of the night to make some adjustments, but it should be up and running now."

Hunk made a sound that was half-laugh, half-snort. "You fixed all the problems it came with and turned it into something we can actually use you mean."

Pidge shrugged. "Everything comes from HQ back on Terra, so they're always behind on the latest the empire or Supremacy throws at border worlds like us."

At least that was their official excuse. Past that lay the ugly truth: that the Alliance couldn't have cared less about Arus, Pollux, or any of the planets not under their direct control. So long as Zarkon or the Supremacy didn't push toward the heart of civilized territory both could conquer, pillage, and destroy with impudence. Allura's pleas for humanitarian if not military aid hadn't even warranted an impersonal, drone-generated response when the Drules had bombed Arus to the brink of oblivion. Not until Voltron had been resurrected had they bothered to take interest—and then only to try to claim joint ownership of the mecha since their men were piloting it. It still brought a smile to Allura's face when she remembered the furious reaction of the Alliance higher-ups as the guys informed them of their acceptance of Arusian citizenship and allegiance to her. All the threats of court martial, prison time, even military action hadn't swayed her teammates. In the end, the Alliance had been forced to play nice, though Allura trusted them even less than the Drules. At least Zarkon was more honest about his intentions.

"That's great news, Pidge! You're a life saver," she said, and meant it. The fact he had barely celebrated his eighteenth birthday a couple of months ago just heightened her opinion of him.

He turned red to the roots of his messy brown hair and waved a hand to deflect her praise. "It was no biggie. Hey, how's that new Drule language program working out? Have any trouble with it?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Um, no. No, not really. I only started a few days ago, though, so I can't say for certain."

"I'd like to give that thing a try myself." Hunk's chair creaked as he leaned back in it. "Then I could give Prince Periwinkle a piece of my mind in his own language."

"I always thought he was more of a robin's egg blue myself," chimed in a voice from the doorway.

All attention turned to Keith as he strolled in, combing his fingers through his freshly washed hair. Allura had secretly approved of him letting it grow out from regulation length since his arrival on Arus. As dark as his eyes, it softened the almost perpetually serious lines of his face and made him look more his twenty-six years. His sharp gaze swept over everyone before finally settling on her. He dipped his head in a nod which she returned, her pulse fluttering with…well, she'd never been able to quite pin down an accurate description for the sensation even after close to two years. It had elements of the way she felt when she and Lance played at flirting, but instead of putting her at ease his attention made her thoughts fly around like a startled flock of birds. Her tendency to fumble words and actions tripled whenever his focus swung her way.

Case in point: she realized she'd been staring.

"Finally!" Hunk cried, saving the moment from reaching critical awkwardness. "Now can we eat?"

Nanny's shrewish stare followed Keith the entire way to his chair beside the Yellow Lion pilot, though not quite with the intensity she'd aimed at Lance. Not because she thought the captain would make a more suitable marriage prospect, but because she trusted him to mind his place. Somewhat anyway.

"Help yourselves," said Allura, just to remind her governess who sat at the head of the table.

Hands darted out and food started disappearing. Allura snagged a sample of several things: a sausage and bit of fruit here, a slice of toast and some yogurt there. Though she didn't have much of an appetite, life had taught her it was best to eat regardless. One never knew when a meal would become somebody's last. She forced herself to nibble on her selections.

"No Coran today?" Keith motioned to the empty chair with his fork.

"Control room," answered Lance through a mouthful of omelet. "He's getting twitchy over Lotor not wanting to come over and play lately."

Hunk began to peel the scaly rind off a sima fruit. "No blues is good news, I say."

The truth lodged itself in Allura's throat, making it hard to swallow her bite of toast. Invasive questions or no, how could she keep Lotor's offer from them? It didn't just affect her, but the whole future of Arus. Besides, her teammates never would've kept such an enormous secret from her.

Still, she couldn't find her voice. A churning feeling in her gut told her to hold back. Lotor had thrown himself on her mercy. As irrational as it sounded, the idea of betraying him didn't sit right. Plus, what good would come of it if she did? Would Zarkon even care his son had been taken prisoner? She couldn't see him keeping any bargain for peace they did manage to pry out of him. Even with Lotor locked away in prison for life that left the rest of the empire to stop.

Spirit of Altarus preserve her, but for once she believed it might be a mistake to dismiss the Prince of Doom's offer.

"Uh, Princess? Yoo-hooooo…Lance to Allura! You copy?"

Surfacing from her thoughts, Allura blinked rapidly and looked up from her half-empty plate to find every pair of eyes trained on her. A blush ignited in her cheeks.

"Oh! Oh, erm, were you talking to me? Sorry! What did I miss?"

"I was just suggesting we check in with Pollux and some of the other border worlds today," Keith said. "Maybe someone along the grapevine has some clue on what the Drules have been up to."

She nodded quickly. "Good idea. I'll—"

The chime of their comms going off at once interrupted. They all jumped a bit and exchanged glances. While not an emergency alert, the tone indicated official Voltron business.

"I got it," Pidge announced, fishing his comm from his pocket first. Setting it on the table, he tapped at the screen. "Go ahead, Coran. The gang's all here and I have you on speaker."

"Thank you, Mr. Stoker," replied the strategist, never one for familiarity. "I apologize for intruding on your meal, but communications has just received a most unusual message. Though the matter is important, it is not yet urgent, so please finish your breakfast before joining me at castle control."

"We'll be there within the hour," Keith told him.

Pidge ended the call but continued to gaze at the screen thoughtfully. "A message, huh? Wonder who it's from."

Allura had a pretty good idea.

Despite Coran's assurance that they didn't need to rush, the promise of excitement had the guys bolting the remainder of their food down. Allura found herself grateful she didn't have to pick at her own anymore when they pushed their plates away and stood.

Speculation dominated the conversation during the walk through the halls. Conversation she stayed out of except for an occasional shrug or shake of her head.

Chilly air washed over them when the castle's control room doors slid open upon their arrival, adding to Allura's sense of foreboding. In contrast, the enormous main screen showed a picturesque panorama of Leonne and the rolling green countryside that surrounded it. Only the pale bits of building foundations, poking up from the grass like half-buried bones, hinted at the bombed ruin the town had been reduced to years before. The resilience and tenacity of her people served as a constant source of amazement and inspiration. So many and so much lost, yet they continued to rebuild, their spirits unbroken.

The man responsible for ensuring there had been anyone left to do so rose from the leather-bound chair in front of the control panels. Sir Raible Coran regarded them with the same calm calculation Allura had seen him display her entire life. In the fourteen years since Zarkon had murdered her family and driven what remained of her people below ground, she could count the number of times the collected demeanor of her father's old strategist and friend had cracked on one hand. He was like the Pierrane Mountains he had been born in: solid, enduring, unmoved by the chaos and upheavals around him.

He greeted her first, bowing at the waist. "Your Highness."

She gave a return nod. "What's this news about a message?"

He swept the long tails of his coat aside and resumed his seat, tapping and sliding his fingers across the control interface. "Please look to the main screen."

As they watched, the view of Leonne was minimized, being replaced with what appeared to be the blueprints of a huge interstellar freighter. On the smaller righthand screen a block of text, written in Trade, came up.

"'To Princess Allura of Arus and the Voltron Force," Lance read. "It has recently come to my attention that a certain Drilik…Drilikaz? Aw, a certain Something-or-Other class freighter of Galra Empire will soon embark on a delivery run from Imperial-held Stamos to Korrinoth, otherwise known as Planet Doom. This would not be so unusual save for its cargo, which I have listed below.'"

Hunk let out a long whistle. "Continent crackers and firestarters? Man, that thing's carrying Armageddon for some unlucky planet."

A black hole where her stomach usually was, Allura marshaled the courage to ask, "What are those?"

Grim lines framed Keith's mouth. "Bombs. Big ones. The first kind, if detonated along fault lines or tectonic plates, can cause all sorts of natural catastrophes. Volcanic eruptions, tsunamis hundreds of feet high, earthquakes off the Richter, take your pick. The second continue what those started by scorching the surface after the initial blast and generating searing winds, effectively desiccating the landscape and turning it into a wasteland. I've seen holos of tests conducted by the Alliance on uninhabited moons. Not pretty."

She had to peel her tongue from the roof of her suddenly dry mouth. "The Alliance has that sort of firepower?"

He nodded. "So does Zarkon, apparently."

"Whoever sent this wanted us informed of the fact." Coran stroked one corner of his moustache—a gesture Allura knew sprang from great mental agitation. "Not only on what the freighter holds, but its travel route, weak points, how many other ships are in the escort and what kind—in short, everything we would need to disable and capture it."

Lance clapped and rubbed his hands together. "Well, hot damn! Let's fire up the Lions and rock'n roll!"

"Normally I would be inclined to agree with that sentiment, Lieutenant McClain. However, there is one thing you've failed to consider. Namely, how is this mysterious benefactor privy to the comings, goings, and specs of Imperial Drule ships?"

"In other words, it's probably a trap, dummy," Pidge translated.

"So what? Are we just gonna sit here with our thumbs up our asses then? It's not like we're going in blind."

"Pidge is right. We need to know who sent this and why," Keith said, dark eyes scanning the text on the screen. "No way is the person who got their hands on this kind of intel some concerned citizen. They're either a Drule feeding us false info or one hell of a hacker. I trust one about as much as the other."

Telling them the truth wouldn't improve that outlook either. However, maybe she didn't have to, not outright.

"Can we track down the source of the transmission?" Allura asked, tone more than a little hopeful.

"Perhaps, given the time." Coran's frown was barely visible beneath his whiskers. "Which brings me to our next problem. According to the travel data provided, we only have a short window of opportunity to attack before the freighter reaches the required distance from Stamos. It seems the Drule are cautious when it comes to loading and transporting weaponry of this magnitude. They make sure to reach open space before a jump is attempted, just in case something triggers a detonation."

Keith narrowed his eyes at the screen. "When would we have to leave to intercept?"

"According to both our dubious source and my own calculations, within the next four hours."

Lotor had given them just enough time to think it over, but not too much.

"Can you sniff out where the message came from in that time, Pidge?" she asked.

The Green Lion pilot scratched his chin. "If the sender covered their trail as well as I figure they did? No, probably not. But I can start."

Coran sighed. "The question now becomes are we willing to risk ourselves on the off-chance this information is true? If Zarkon did intend to use such weapons in the near future…well, I believe we realize what a precarious situation that puts Arus in."

"Understatement of the year," muttered Hunk.

A literal shudder at the thought rattled through Allura. If Lotor hadn't shared this intelligence, his father would have received the deadly shipment with them none the wiser. The empire's recent silence took on an even more sinister cast.

Stopping that freighter could mean life or death for a world. Possibly her own.

"We have to go." Allura didn't realize she'd blurted the thought until everyone turned to stare at her. She forced her spine to remain straight, though she couldn't stop the blood from rising in her face. Why did she always feel embarrassed to voice her opinion on a situation? She was heir to the throne, not a child who'd spoken out of turn at school.

"All right, Princess! Gimme five!" Grin stretched ear to ear, Lance offered his hand palm outwards. She pressed more than slapped her own against it.

"I agree," Keith said, making both her and Coran's brows leap up. "It's a risk, but nothing compared to letting Zarkon keep his toys. If we go in with caution, keep our heads, we might turn this into a win. Whether the sender was lying will get answered one way or another."

Validation made Allura's heart swell and feel like it might stop altogether at the same time. She couldn't be wrong if the captain agreed.

"As much as it pains me, I have little choice but to concur." From Coran's expression one would have thought he'd been forced to swallow a particularly prickly bug. "I must remind you, however, that preserving the Lions is our highest priority. Should they be damaged or captured Arus is lost."

She didn't feel the need to point out that if the empire hit their planet with that cargo there wouldn't be anyone left for Voltron to defend. The round had already gone to her—best not to rub things in.

His face was like a wooden mask, but something burned behind Keith's eyes as he turned to his team. Though Allura couldn't put a name to its source, she felt her pulse kick into a canter in response. She knew a glance at any of her teammates would show a reflection of her own experience.

"All right, let's suit up." Though steady, his voice held an undercurrent of the same, barely contained emotional electricity coursing through them. "These extra few hours will be to our advantage. The Drules might have planned a trap. We're going to give them an ambush instead."

***Beltra: Beast of burden domesticated tens of thousands of years ago and still in use by multiple civilizations (all of which claim to have tamed the animals originally). Though most humans stuck with machines or familiar Terran livestock as they spread throughout the galaxy, the Arusians adopted the beltra, admiring it for its strength, mostly gentle nature, and strong community bonds.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Tons of thanks to ebon-drake, Drowningblonde, Earthfae, Snyperlady, and everyone else who's read, reviewed, followed, or fav'd! You make my little writer's heart go pitter-pat. :3**

One of the most frequent questions Allura got from people was how it felt to fly Blue Lion. Every time, without fail, her tongue tripped over itself while trying to answer. How could she begin to describe the almost religious experience? The adrenaline that flooded her system when she leapt down the boarding chute in the castle's control room dimmed in comparison to actually sitting in the pilot seat. She hadn't the faintest idea what material it was made from, but her body sank into it like gel, fostering a sense of weightlessness. Her fingers trembled as she set the medallion-style key in its proper recess and then slipped her hands into the twin receptacles at the ends of the seat's armrests. The dark, glass-like pads beneath her palms instantly flared with a white-blue glow. Every nerve, every cell in her came alive with a bracing yet pleasant jolt. She broke out in a rash of goosebumps, energy rippling along her skin. A harmonic hum that Allura felt down into the core of her bones stirred the cool air of the cockpit.

There were no levers to pull. No gauges to read. Not a single switch to flip. Which was just as well—she'd never operated anything bigger than a personal transport in the underground shelters. The Alliance had sent pilots and technicians to Arus, thinking Voltron merely another machine. Advanced, yes. Complex, certainly. But still something that could be reduced to basic nuts and bolts, then replicated.

What they failed to comprehend and would scarcely believe was that she and the guys didn't simply fly the Lions. They became them.

Blue-tinted light obscured her vision as the near-mythological technology transferred her consciousness from its frail human shell. When her sight cleared, she had a clear view of the bottom of Asala Lake. She raised her head, now dozens of meters above the platform beneath her paws, and stretched for the pure pleasure of doing so rather than out of any real need. Haunches gathered under her, she launched herself toward the rippling silver surface above. She burst out of the lake, water streaming from her glittering hide. Gravity had no claim on her. Water, land, the beautiful optical illusion that was the summer sky, and the infinite expanse of space beyond—all were her domain.

Flying Blue Lion made her feel more powerful than being a princess ever had.

A static charge crackled along her right flank, letting her know Keith had joined her in the air. They were almost always first since their Lions rested nearest to the castle. Side by side they soared toward the southwest.

"How you feeling, Princess?" he asked over the comm system. At least, what they referred to as the comm system—it sounded more like his steady, sonorous voice came from inside her head. But none of them wanted to start throwing terms like ""telepathy" or "magic" around. It tended to attract funny looks or awkward questions about one's sanity from those who hadn't experienced such things first hand.

"Great," she answered, dimly aware of her small, fleshy mouth forming the words back in the cockpit. "Apparently, flying the Lions is an acceptable substitute for a full night's sleep."

One of his rare, quiet laughs tickled the confines of her skull. If she hadn't already been soaring hundreds of feet above the earth that would've done the trick.

"What's the joke?" inquired Pidge as he joined them from the forest below. Allura's senses registered Green Lion's presence as a cool wind to her left.

"Just that this is more effective than any cup of coffee," Keith explained.

"Amen to that. I was starting to think I'd be old enough to walk into a bar back on Terra before we saw action again."

"We might need a drink or two once this mission's in the log books." Hunk swung in from the east, path as steady as the boulders Yellow Lion slept under.

"No kidding, big guy. We can stop this freighter today, but that's just treating the symptom. Zarkon's probably got a whole storehouse of firecrackers on Stamos. As long as he's got a finger on the trigger we've got problems."

Pidge's grim assessment sobered Allura up from her power high. No one would be safe until the war had been brought to an end. How they would accomplish that…She stowed the thoughts away for later before they could cloud her focus. One daunting task at a time.

"Hi-ho, Red Lion, awaaaay!" Like a meteor, Lance streaked out of the south to join them.

A surge of vigor, an aura of rightness, coursed through Allura once all five of them were in formation. Her misgivings melted in a blaze of resolve. They would stop Zarkon or anyone who threatened peace in the universe, now and always. Together.

"All right. Let's get free of the atmosphere and jump near those coordinates we received. We don't want to be late for our date with the Drules," Keith said. He sounded practically giddy under the Lions' influence.

Lance's answering catcall brought a grin to Allura's face. He'd never been one to hide his enthusiasm for a good fight. "Hope the blues got some lube on board 'cause they are _so_ getting screwed."

A collective groan went up over the comm link.

"Thanks for the image, Lance," muttered Pidge.

"Dirty mind and a pretty face—it's a combo that hasn't gone wrong yet."

"Sure, if you don't count the bar brawls and court martials," Hunk chimed in.

And on they sparred until they had pierced the last layer of Arus' atmosphere. As always, Allura took a moment to glance over her shoulder at the planet that was her home, history, and responsibility. It looked peaceful and untouched from space, its scars and ongoing struggles too small to see from that distance. So much larger than her, than any of them. And in turn, the vastness of the void surrounding it dwarfed the planet. Just one blue and white mote whirling in the great spiral of the Denubian Galaxy. It left her both awed and feeling like her bowels had liquefied at the same time. Tail lashing, she faced forward again.

They called the way the Lions traveled the immense distances of open space a jump, but only out of habit. Warping fit better—something the Alliance especially envied, and the Drules had refined long ago thanks to their monopoly on lazon. Without enough of the precious crystalline fuel source to power individual ships, humans had to make do with jump gates and the occasional natural worm hole.

Though those methods took longer, Allura preferred them, to be honest. Warping felt as unsettling as it sounded. Reality twisted and tore open under swipes from their claws. The rift they'd created yawned open like a toothless maw, blotting out the stars beyond. Bands of oily color swirled and rippled in its depths, some of which would have been beyond the ranges of her human sight or even comprehension. Infrared, ultraviolet, shades that were darker than black, brighter than white, and more that made the rainbow look tarnished and dingy.

The five of them plunged headlong into the otherworldly abyss. Time's flow slowed to a trickle, then ceased to mean anything at all. Reality stretched and became one endless, fitful dream to Allura. Images and sensations drifted through the corridors of her mind like ghosts. The rays of the setting sun painting The Castle of Lions in shades of fire. Death's sickly-sweet stench rolling off a corpse she had come across while sneaking out of the cave shelters, insects marching in lines down its empty eye sockets. Her now dead baby brother's palms slapping against hers in a clumsy game of Pat-a-Cake. A burst of paradise in her mouth as she bit into the first bellberry she'd tasted in a decade. The piercing screams of fleeing people when Commander Yurak had attacked a half-rebuilt Leonne a year and a half ago. Keith's eyes gleaming as he rallied them to battle.

Allura surfaced from the layers of memory with a gasp. If her actual body hadn't already been sitting she might have collapsed.

"Everyone all right?" Even Keith's voice wavered slightly.

"Man, that always freaks me out," Hunk said. Yellow Lion's head shook, as if trying to clear it.

"Reminds me of doing tequila shots back at the academy on the weekends," added Lance with a groan, putting one paw over his muzzle. "Then waking up in a field the next morning without any pants or memory of how the hell I got there."

Green Lion flicked its tail in a way that was almost smug. "I just run equations and code through my mind during the trip. I feel fine."

"Show off."

"Princess? Everything okay?" Black Lion looked at her.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the fist-sized ball that must've been the planet Stamos. "Yes, I'm fine now. Just shaking off the last of the strangeness."

He nodded at her. "Let's cloak then move in."

Cloaking, fortunately, was a less unsettling experience. Her teammates simply rippled and shimmered out of existence. Cool energy washed over Allura as her own encompassed her like an invisible shell. Though unable to physically see them, she could still sense the other Lions through whatever link they shared. In formation, they proceeded toward Stamos, its features becoming clearer as they closed the distance. A huge continent dominated the side facing them. In the middle of it sat a huge sea or lake, the shape reminding Allura of a hoofprint. The planet looked healthy enough from there, but she wondered what the situation was on the ground. Imperial-held the message had said. Most likely its people had been enslaved, perhaps forced to work in factories and mines to produce Zarkon's world-killing weapons. She wanted to swoop down, drive every last Drule from the planet, and free the rightful citizens. As Pidge had said, they were merely putting a band-aid on a blaster wound.

All a heads-on assault would accomplish, of course, was getting them killed. According to Lotor's message, there were multiple bases, many of them housing armadas. It wasn't one of the sparsely populated worlds with little military presence they had liberated in the past. The Drules were latched on like ticks, and she and the guys didn't have the time or back-up to pick them off.

They stopped halfway between the planet and its nearest moon. In case things went "south", as Lance put it, its craters and canyons would make convenient bolt holes.

"We have a window of a half an hour at best," Keith reminded them. "So we go in hard and fast."

Lance crowed. "I love it when you talk dirty to us, Chief."

Despite the situation, Allura caught a hint of amusement coloring their captain's voice. "Our priority is to disable that freighter and drag it back home. Lance, your Lion can withstand the most heat, so you take out the lazon cells. Pidge, I want the command bridge destroyed. The longer we can go without the Drules sending an SOS, the better. When you're done with that, help Hunk, the princess, and me swat down the escort. Once Lance neutralizes the freighter's jump capabilities we tow it back home ASAP. If we do this right, we won't even need Voltron."

"It feels weird when we don't slice something in half at the end of a fight, though," Hunk mock-whined. "It's like going to a soccer game and walking out during the second half."

"Change is good," Allura cut in. "We send a robeast or fleet home in pieces practically every week as it is. It'll be refreshing to destroy things with our own hands. Er, paws."

Their laughter rang over the comm link, and distantly, she felt a grin spread across her face. Before the fifth member of the Alliance-sent team, Sven Holgersson, had been critically injured and captured by Zarkon's witch Haggar, Allura might have found such pre-battle banter unthinkable—even arrogant. After flying Blue Lion and becoming a veteran herself, understanding had grown and taken root in her. Survival was as much a mental and emotional tribulation as it was a physical one. Downtime had nearly broken her nerve the first few times. Forced to wait, to do nothing but contemplate the mortal peril that would eventually break over them, terror, aggression, and regrets built up in someone like toxins. Joking, or to paraphrase Hunk, shooting the scatological reference, proved an effective way to release those corrosive humors and maintain morale. And if the fight did prove their last, at least they had gotten in a final laugh.

The remaining two and a half hours (Arusian Central Standard Time) passed smoothly, marked without error by some mysterious instinct present in their minds. At forty three minutes until the appointed moment, the sense that something approached sparked in Allura. The guys hadn't missed it either, judging from the way the chatter died.

"Here they come," said Keith, voice even and sure. "Hunk, Princess, trident formation."

Dark dots appeared against the green, blue, and white backdrop of Stamos. Within minutes they formed into the silhouettes of ships. Two spike-crested carriers, their prows sticking up like the heads of monstrous raptor birds. Four sleek destroyers arranged in a square. And in the middle, the rotund, lumbering form of the freighter, its horned skull figurehead grinning at them as it came. Allura's claws curled in anticipation.

"On my mark, we take the carrier on the port side out," Keith told her and Hunk. "One."

A subtle vibration rolled through Allura as the Drule ships' scanners touched her, detecting nothing but empty space.

"Two."

The first pair of destroyers cruised by. She felt Lance and Pidge drift higher, all the better to pounce on the freighter headed straight for them.

"Three!"

A battlecry erupted from Allura's throat as her cloak tattered out of existence. Her comrades echoed her roar as they charged their prey. Warmth flowed across her side, a portion of her metallic flesh rearranging and molding itself into a missile launcher in response to her mental command.

The carrier never had a prayer.

Black Lion's cross beam ripped into it from above. Stingray missiles streamed from Yellow's mouth and turned its starboard side to slag. Her own stinger missiles shredded the other. Shrapnel flew in all directions, unchecked by the restraints of gravity. She could see the numerous explosions rocking the carrier from within when they swung around. Flames rippled in the darkness, riding the streams of pressurized gases that poured from the doomed ship to eventually dissipate in the void. Slowly, the carrier listed onto its side like a great, dying beast.

"Incoming fliers," Keith said as the first wave of smaller fighter craft started to swarm out of the remaining carrier.

Searing-red laser fire streaked past Allura. She wove an evasive pattern while she picked out a flier in the crowd and charged it. It shot furiously at her, beams coming from the scorpion tail-shaped guns curved above and below its body. One grazed her shoulder, but she hardly noticed the stinging burst of pain. A leap closed the distance and she caught the helpless Drule flier in her jaws. One bite sheared it in half. She savored the taste of crushed alloys, fire, and vengeance before spitting the twisted wreckage out. There were plenty more where that came from.

Extending her forelegs, she deployed all eight of her claw missiles against the cloud of small craft in her way. They hit their marks, explosions flaring briefly then sputtering out, viable fuel eaten up. Shrapnel pelted Allura, but she growled and pushed through it to her real target. She could feel her claws and stinger missiles regenerating already, though it would still be several minutes yet. Instead, she summoned her Lion Sword, the trident-like blade taking shape in her jaws. Dancing around the laser cannon fire, Allura swung down beneath the carrier. Its weapons were few below, making it easy for her to slit open its hull. Vibrations shuddered through the vessel as Hunk, Keith, and finally Pidge struck from above. She relaxed her jaws when she pulled away, her blade melting back into the ether.

"_Adiós_, azulos*!" came Lance's victory cry.

Auroras of ghostly green radiation, made visible by her borrowed eyes, billowed around the freighter. Several seconds later, Red Lion tore his way out of its hull like some nightmarish offspring.

The same sixth sense that kept track of time in their heads let Allura know that most of the little lives inside the freighter were either guttering or had already been snuffed out. The radiation that felt no worse than summer sunshine against her hide proved less gentle to the Drule crew.

"Hey! Someone wanna give me a hand with these destroyers?" Green Lion sprang out of the way of a wave motion blast from one of the aforementioned ships' main guns.

"Hunk and Lance, get some cables into that wounded freighter and tow it out of here," ordered Keith. "The three of us will cover you."

Inside of ten minutes, one of the front pair of destroyers became the destroyed. As advanced as the Drules shielding and weapon tech were, it couldn't hold a chemlight to the scientific sorcery that had created the Lions.

By the time Yellow and Red had torn open a rift and hauled their prize to safety, she, Green, and Black had taken apart a second destroyer. The rear two, when they looked, had turned tail and started to flee toward the dozens of new dots that had appeared against the glow Stamos. With a roar, Allura made to pursue—no prey could outrun them.

"No! Let them go." Keith's stern voice cut through the haze of battlelust. "We got what we came for. If we follow, we'll just run straight into that armada."

Allura had trouble seeing the downside to that. Her tail thrashed, a growl rumbling inside her, while she watched her enemies escape to live another day.

It was borrowed time. She hoped they knew, down in the black pits of their souls, that she would be back to collect someday.

Forcing herself to turn away, Allura followed her comrades as they opened a new rift. All the way home, she dreamed of blood, flames, and the corpses of ships slowly rotating through the field of stars forever.

***Lance failed high school Spanish class. It shows sometimes.**

**A/N: Well, hopefully I remembered the names of the various attacks right. If not, I suppose I can expect a couple of Alliance officials to show up at my door and strip me of my fan card..._ I went with the Devil's Due version of how the Lions run for the most part, as you could see-apologies to anyone who prefers all the buttons and levels and switches of DotU. I plan to have more on the Lions and how they work along the way. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Voltron, its characters, settings, and other concepts are copyrighted, trademarked, and/or property of WEP, Toei Animation, and Devil's Due Publishing. I'm affiliated with none of those, and I derive no monetary profit from this work of fiction, only nerdy joy.**

**A/N: Fist bumps go out to lovecastle89, DrowningBlonde, EarthFae, ebon-drake, SnyperLady, Narrow Path, and everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and/or fav'd! May you roll high when it counts!**

"Oh, Allura! Are you well, child? Were you injured?"

She froze in the doorway to Castle Control, muscles tensed for violence as a large figure rushed her the moment the metal doors slid open. Her bared teeth brought the threat up short. A strangled sound squeaked from its throat. In the tense pause that followed, she blinked. Bit by bit, the lingering effects of the battle receded, and the round, ashen features of her would-be opponent took on familiarity.

"Nanny," Allura said, a chill sluicing down her spine. Altarus preserve them, she'd nearly attacked the woman who had been like a mother to her. She swallowed hard, fumbling to untwist the threads of her true personality from the predatory instincts of Blue Lion.

"I'm all right." She said it to herself as much as to the stunned woman standing before her. "None of us were injured. We caught the Drules completely off-guard. They didn't have a chance."

Shaking off her shock at the less than warm initial reception, Nanny bustled closer to resume fussing. "Hmph! No one was injured this time, oh yes. How soon she forgets all the near misses, bruises, and kidnappings! And what about all the ones waiting in the future? You're the first one the Drules target thanks to that misbegotten raider's spawn, Lotor! What would we do if something were to befall you?"

And on the smothering went. Allura squashed the waspish retort that buzzed on her tongue. Beneath the abrasive layer of her old governess' nagging laid genuine maternal fears and concern. Her methods of expressing them, though, did little to foster the gratitude she would have warranted otherwise.

Once satisfied her charge was still in mint condition, Nanny took a step back. Allura seized the opportunity to duck past and join Coran at the control console.

"Well done, Your Highness." His smile was visible even beneath the shelter of his moustache. "Have you given any thought as to what to do with our new acquisition?"

She nodded, warm as she basked in his pride. "I plan to ask Romelle and Bandor if they would spare some of the Polluxian fleet to help guard the freighter. We can park it between our planets until we find a safe spot to detonate and dispose of the bombs."

Immediately, her advisor's battened down his expression. "Are you certain it's wise to throw away such an advantage, Highness?"

A worm of unease began to chew through her middle. "Advantage?"

"We now have a cache of highly advanced weapons to point our enemy's way. Weapons that require little more than strategic placement."

He said it so calmly, so simply, as if explaining to a child why she should drink her milk and go to bed early.

Allura's blood turned to ice water in her veins. "No. Absolutely not. I refuse to use such abominable devices against anyone—even Zarkon. Voltron has protected us this far, and he will continue to do so."

"I am not saying we must use them," Coran replied, tone saturated with good sense. "But the threat of such weapons would make Zarkon think twice before threatening us or our allies again. This could be the leverage we need to negotiate a viable armistice with the empire."

A growl rattled her vocal chords, another echo of Blue Lion's influence. She fought to keep reason the guiding force behind her words. "There can be no peace if we're both still essentially holding knives to each other's throats. Arus will not use, store, or manufacture such weapons. It is what separates us from those like the Galra Empire. Am I understood?"

Coran's mouth opened, but no argument sallied forth. Slowly, his lips sealed themselves again and he offered a brief bow. Allured smiled, the lines of her face stiff. Her advisor wasn't defeated, she knew. He had merely declared a tactical retreat.

"Shall I open a channel to Her Highness, Princess Romelle and His Majesty, King Bandor on Pollux then?" he inquired.

It took a second to calculate what time it would be at her cousins' palace. "Yes. We should catch them right after breakfast."

Allura waited and watched while Coran went about the process of establishing a link between comm relays and satellites. She raised a hand to sweep a stray strand of hair back from her forehead, but stopped halfway through the motion, mesmerized by the sight. Such a puny, weak appendage. Nothing more than spindle-fine bones wrapped in fragile layers of tissue. Minimal force would shatter its mineralized structure, rend the strands of protein bound to them. Even slight change in temperature disturbed the spongy flesh. Not an hour ago she had traversed the vacuum of space without a shiver, but in the confines of Castle Control the warmth had already been leeched from her fingers. What did she hope to accomplish in this frail form? Her comrades waited for her among the stars, where there were enemies to slay and eternities to explore.

"Princess? Highness? Allura!"

With a disorienting sense of detachment, as though she were standing just outside her breakable body, she looked at Nanny. Hands on plentiful hips, the woman didn't seem sure whether a scolding or sickbed was called for. The faint lines webbed around her eyes and mouth deepened. "What in heaven's name has gotten into you, child?"

Since it was impossible to translate mortality and the unfolding of the cosmos into simplistic mouth sounds, Allura shook her head. "I'm just a little weary from the battle." Her voice sounded like it had come from the other end of a long tin pipe.

Nanny scoured her charge's expression, finding nothing but a sort of serene emptiness. She gave a little huff but accepted the answer—it was, after all, something she could understand and deal with. "Well, go have a seat then before you tire yourself out more. I'll fetch you a cup of tea."

A twinge of emotion helped reel Allura back into herself. A small yet authentic smile crossed her face. "Thank you, Nanny."

Misgivings exorcised, the woman shooed her into one of the technician's chairs in front of the command panels before exiting. Soon after, Coran established a channel with Pollux. Once intentions were explained and word sent, Allura found herself facing the welcoming image of her two distant cousins.

"Romelle, Bandor! It's wonderful to see you. I hope I didn't drag you away from breakfast."

Romelle shook her head, and as always, Allura couldn't help but marvel at the sight of so many of her own features reflected in the other princess' face. If not for the molten-red of her cousin's hair, they might have been sisters. "We were just leaving the table when we received word. All is well?"

"As much as can be expected. We haven't had any plagues of Drule fleets descend on us for a month now. Frankly, it was beginning to prey on our nerves."

The tightness in the corners of Bandor's blue eyes belied his boyish appearance. "We've suspected bigger trouble brewing from that corner ourselves. I've been in contact with Zaal, Titus, and some of our other allies as well as stepped up our stellar patrols, but none have caught a whiff of anything."

"We wouldn't have either, if not for a message we received this morning," Allura said. She recounted the events pre- and post-battle, watching her cousins evolve from astonished to elated.

"Captain Kogane and the rest of the team are currently guarding the freighter and its cargo, at a safe distance from Arus in case this was a ploy so the Drules could detonate the explosives remotely," she concluded. "I would like to request the aid of Polluxian ships in guarding this cargo until it can be safely disposed of."

Bandor stood straighter, the cheer and color draining from his face until even his freckles looked pale. "You mean to get rid of this gift?"

Altarus' breath, not them too.

Romelle's features distorted into an expression too sharp, cold, and frightening to resemble Allura anymore. "You can't. This is the opportunity we've been waiting for."

A sinking sensation swirled in her middle. "The intent of this mission was to stop these weapons from being used, not turn around and use them ourselves."

"The only way to stop them for good is to eliminate the source. The Drules are savages, Allura. Technologically advanced and sophisticated in some ways, but peel away the polished veneer and you'll find a culture driven by the most brutal, primitive decrees of nature. They aren't like us or the worlds inside the Alliance's fold. Bloodying their noses won't drive them off. When there's something they want nothing except superior strength or death will dissuade them. I should know."

Her cousin's words struck Allura like a dash of freezing water in the face, bringing life back into ruthless clarity. She caught movement toward the bottom of the screen as Bandor reached over to discreetly take his sister's hand. Silence grew to an awkward length, no one knowing how to deal with the fallout of that verbal bombshell.

It had been the closest Romelle had come to discussing her ordeal as a captive on Doom. In lieu of working up the nerve to ask for a firsthand account, Allura had managed to stitch patches of the story together from various sources. The Drules, reneging on an alliance with Pollux, had mortally wounded Romelle's father King Cova and then killed her elder brother Avok after he'd been morphed into a robeast, That much she knew from Voltron's presence at the battle on the planet's surface. Her cousin had been taken prisoner by Lotor sometime during the chaos, subjected to likely every violation imaginable at Galra Castle, and then survived the infamous Pit of Skulls with the help of Blue Lion's former pilot, Sven. Allura doubted she could have endured one of those trials without her sanity splintering, nevermind all three in a row.

That had only been a prelude to the final horror of homecoming, though.

With Avok dead, Romelle had become the eldest and thus the heir to the throne. Yet when she'd finally been rescued from Doom, she found herself forced to greet Bandor, a mere fourteen at the time, as King of Pollux. During her captivity, her planet's parliament had placed the crown on her younger brother's head. She had been presumed dead when Zarkon and Lotor made no demands, ran the official excuse; Pollux had needed a monarch to give the people a symbol of strength and stability during those terrifying and uncertain times. But their slapdash coat of apologetic deceit hadn't concealed the mottled, rotten truth: No royal or aristocrat would accept Lotor's leftovers as a wife, let alone a queen. Small wonder she had volunteered to join the guerrilla squads scattered throughout the empire along with Sven. The constant danger had to be preferable to the scorn whispered behind the hands of her own people whenever she passed.

The realization that a similar fate lurked inside her own realm of possibility made Allura's idealism wilt along its edges.

"Point taken," she said. Her voice sounded rough and loud after the long pause. "While my initial stance remains the same, perhaps we can come to a compromise. These weapons may be useful against Drule fleets. Or perhaps we can convert them to smaller parcels to be used in strikes against military targets."

Coran rushed in to catch her train of thought. "There's also much to be gleaned from the freighter and cargo itself. Any technology we can reverse engineer would help us close the advantage gap between us and the empire."

Romelle's features thawed somewhat, and she nodded. "First thing's first, however. We have to keep the prize out of Drule reach and weather any retaliation they aim at us. Then we can decide what to do with it."

"Agreed," said Bandor. He might have worn the crown, but as many decrees had been born from his elder sister's advice as his own will. "You may count on the Polluxian fleet to aid you with any operations, cousin."

Allura's guts loosened out of the knots they'd tied themselves into, and she bowed slightly. "Thank you both. Let me return to Blue Lion and regroup with the others. We'll set up a comm link with you and Coran, then coordinate things from there."

"Understood." Dimples appeared in the young king's cheeks as he smiled. "Thank you for sharing this with us, Allura."

Some of her brother's enthusiasm spilled over to Romelle. "We do appreciate it. It's the best news we've had in too long."

Though she forced herself to parrot their excitement, Allura's thoughts had flown elsewhere. A whole new minefield of decisions lay strewn across the path to the future, with just two days to figure out how to navigate it. If ever there were a time she wished she had a fairy godmother that was it. Assuming, of course, that pumpkins could be turned into fightercraft as easily as they were into carriages.

**!**

Evening drew a cloak of shadows slowly over the forest, grassy grounds, and lake. Allura watched its advance from the terrace, one hand on the balustrade, feeling the last of the warmth the stone had soaked up during the day. Time had activated warp drive like it always did when she had much to be done in a short space. While no benevolent magical beings had put in an appearance, she'd managed to conjure a loose plan of action on her own for her second meeting with Prince Not-So-Charming. A bleak smile bent her lips as her other hand tightened on the energy pistol belted at her hip. It was no magic wand, but it would do.

Her eyes continued their steady sweep of the landscape. The largest moon had started its ascent, turning the scene into stark contrasts of silver space and black shadows. Minutes ticked along but still she caught no signs of movement. Perhaps the whole business with the freighter had been bait in a larger scheme, or a distraction. Give him a chance, fiddle di dee. A chance to betray her and attack—

The sound that tipped her off was faint, just the muffled thud of weight falling onto a solid surface. But it was more than enough to set her nerves clanging. Within an instant, Allura had executed an about face, pistol out and leveled at Lotor's chest.

She knew wearing a practical shirt and slacks would be worth enduring Nanny's disapproval.

Though the prince imperial raised his empty hands with no sudden movements, one corner of his lips twitched up. "You're twice as sexy with a deadly weapon in your hand, did you know that?"

The trigger burned against her finger. "Back up. Slowly."

He did as he was told, glittering eyes never leaving her face. Allura let him put a couple paces' worth of distance between them before following. She glanced upwards just outside the terrace doors and spied a rope dangling above them, leading all the way to the top of the castle from what she could tell. So, that was the secret behind his little vanishing act. Stalking apparently inspired ingenuity, among other things.

When the backs of his knees bumped into her bed Lotor stopped.

"Sit—and spare me your crude quips," she snapped before any could escape his half-open mouth.

Lotor remained silent, taking a seat, but his smile was innuendo enough. Worse, he set his hands flat on either side, fingers caressing her quilt, relishing the feel of the fabric. And all the while his hooded stare never stood down. Allura's skin tried to creep right off her body. If this was what she had to put up with to mine information from him, then her career in espionage would be a short one.

"The explosives in that freighter," she said, hoping to douse his pleasure with business. "Were they meant for Arus?"

That snuffed out the primal gleam in his eyes. Lotor didn't move, but she caught the thrum of tension in his arms and shoulders. His stroking fingers went still.

"Yes."

Just a single word, but it stole all the air from the room. A quiver infected Allura's knees, and she had to tense her legs to keep it from spreading. If she hadn't already had two days to drain the clot of horror, terror, and outrage from her mind, she probably would have gone to pieces in front of him. As it was, she struggled to keep her aim steady.

"Who ordered the explosives to be shipped?" she asked.

"My father, of course. Who else?" He could've bluffed the god of truth while hooked up to a polyrhythm monitor with the aura of sincerity surrounding him.

A couple of years ago she might have bought it. But her time spent above ground as a prime Drule target had taught her suspicion, and the learning curve had been more of a vertical line.

"So you didn't set the whole thing up to, say, make yourself look like the savior of Arus and impress me?" she asked.

Lotor blinked once.

Then collapsed on her bed, paralyzed by spasms of full-throated laughter.

Allura grit her teeth and weighed the pros and cons of pulling the trigger. She could just say she'd done it in self-defense. No one would doubt her…

"Finished?" Cheeks hot enough to glow in the dark, she scowled at him while he finally righted himself.

"On the contrary," he replied, another round of chuckles streaming from him. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Just answer my question!"

He showed off his sharp canine teeth in a grin. "I did."

Her plans of premeditated murder must have shown in her eyes because he followed up with a wave of his hand.

"Let me put it this way, Allura. If I were going to stage an elaborate production to cast myself as the dashing hero and sweep you off your feet, it wouldn't involve billions in damage to imperial property, or the deaths of highly trained personal." The last vestiges of his mirth evaporated. "Make no mistake. The threat is real."

She wanted to brand him a liar. Things would be so much simpler that way. She could kick him out of her room, her world, her life. Then she and the guys could return to fighting robeasts instead of trying to brace for a menace that had no face—that would come without warning from any and all sides. For once, though, she sensed no taint of deceit, and logic corroborated his words.

Trust Lotor to pick the worst possible time to start telling the truth.

"_Why?_" Her voice nearly cracked on the word.

A faint V appeared between the prince imperial's pale brows. "Why what?"

"Why obliterate Arus? Why destroy its people? What changed?"

"Nothing. And that's precisely the problem." He drew in a deep breath, a sure sign that predictions of doom were to follow. "Voltron, and by extension Arus, has been a constant wrench in my father's plans for years now. First Yurak failed to remove the problem, and then I didn't do much toward that end either. So, the old man figured another approach was long overdue."

That night's dinner threatened revolt inside her stomach. " 'Approach'?! He meant to obliterate life on my entire planet!"

"Yes, and he's going to succeed if we don't work together to stop him. To that end, I suggest you order the Lions separated and stationed on different planets for the present."

"What?" Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull and out onto the floor like ping-pong balls.

"Black Lion should remain here on Arus," he continued, as if he hadn't spouted madness and heresy in the same breath. "Zaal's deserts would be ideal for Yellow. Green and Red could fit many places, but Pollux is the best choice for yours. Not only is there a waterway in front of the palace, but you'll have a second pilot for Blue Lion on hand in case you need one."

Like the times she'd watched some celebrity on the holo strutting around in a hideous outfit, Allura had to admire the ego that gave birth to such audacity even as she itched to grind it into the dirt. "The Lions aren't going anywhere, least of all where you want to send them!"

Though he was the one under the gun, Lotor still managed to send her a stern look down his nose—she swore he must have taken notes on Nanny's techniques. "You're only making yourself and the rest of the Voltron Force a tidy target for my father by clustering in one place. By separating and utilizing your allies' resources, you'll present him with a larger front."

"No! You're just trying to divide us so you can attack Arus without Voltron interfering!"

"Oh please, Allura. Occasional ignorance is excusable. Denial is _making_ excuses. Your precious deus ex mecha alone isn't going to see you through this war."

Her jaw set in a stubborn scowl. "The Lions stay."

Groaning, he ran his hands down his cheeks. "Grieving gods, your skull is more heavily armored against reason than Romelle's is!"

He couldn't have thrown her righteous fury lever any harder. Allura stared at him, unblinking, through the sights of her pistol.

"Is that what you did to Romelle? _Reasoned_ with her?" The heat in her tone had dissipated, leaving only a piercing, controlled coldness behind.

Expression as inscrutable as a cat's, Lotor stared at her in silence. She gave him a subzero smile. Hadn't thought that skeleton would come rattling out of the closet, had he? He'd probably counted on her being dazzled by the shining armor of his new role, his past crimes absolved in a baptism of gratitude. One step in the right direction didn't erase the dark, twisted path he had blithely treaded his whole life, though. Not a whit.

"I don't know, Allura. Why don't you tell me what I did to her?" Tilting his head, he folded his arms across his chest.

"The same things all men with too much power and too little heart do: abuse, degrade, sully, destroy. Romelle endured hell at your hands."

"Really? She said that?"

She made a scoffing sound. "My cousin doesn't have to put her pain on dis—"

"Did she say I stormed her damn castle gates or not?"

"There were bruises from head to toe on her!" Allura shouted, flailing her hands in the air.

He did a slow shake of his head. "No man, including me, gave them to her."

Despite the growing ache in her arm, she leveled the pistol at him again. "I'm not in the mood for word games, Lotor. However she got them, you were still responsible."

"_I-nal-kai Ku-halth_." He said it in distinct, measured segments of syllables.

"What—"

"It's a soul journey—_Kuhalth_. What humans would call a code or path. Sometimes a Drule will choose to dedicate his or her life to one, learning a specialized set of skills or fighting style."

"Your point being?" she huffed.

"Haven't you ever wondered how a sheltered princess managed to become a sniper and demolitions expert while the captive of an evil empire?"

"Sven—"

"Only helped polish her education further when they met in the Pit's tunnels. He didn't set its foundations." Lotor's eyebrows quirked up, daring her to contradict him.

It was his turn to play the jester while Allura cawed laughter. "You honestly expect me to believe," she gasped out between gales, "that my cousin joined some sort of secret Drule society? Romelle, who wanted me to turn around and incinerate your world when I talked to her two days ago? And here I was thinking you were some master of deceit!"

Drawing the tattered shreds of his dignity around himself, Lotor sat tall, refusing to drop the charade. "Romelle was trained by followers of a path—I never said that she appreciated or enjoyed it. But yes, believe it or not, she earned her bruises from practice sessions with women of _Inalkai Kuhalth_."

"Sorry, I'm all stocked up on BS at the moment. Try a few doors over—maybe the neighbors want some."

"Your tongue could flay flesh from bone, my princess." He heaved a sigh. "Ask Romelle for yourself. Don't assume you know the story like those who turned their backs on her do."

The hint of bitterness in his voice pierced right through Allura's armor of skepticism. Her next retort stalled in her throat. His excuse was thinner than an asteroid's atmosphere, of course. The idea that she was being judgmental, about him of all people, even more so.

Except when she considered the possibility that both were too absurd _not_ to be true. Lying and manipulation were pillars of Lotor's personality. So wouldn't he be able to conjure up a more artful story rather than simply shifting the blame? Unless he'd counted on her thinking that. Or maybe he knew that she would know and—

Allura shook her head before her mind became completely tangled in the knot of thoughts. She could let her speculations eat their tails, or she could take the direct route to the truth. Lotor had a point in that much at least.

"Fine," she said, scrunching her nose as though the word left a foul taste behind. "I'll ask Romelle."

Lotor didn't relax, but he nodded. "Tell her I said Ailonti of the Shadow Heart sends her regards. That will be enough."

Due to the burning throb that had pulsed to life in her shoulder, Allura lowered her weapon, but didn't even think of holstering it. "I'm still not moving the Lions, though."

"Your fuzzy-faced strategist may have an opinion on that. Speaking of strategy, what is yours in regards to the freighter?"

She tapped the pistol against her thigh, smile filled with poisoned sweetness. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He rolled his yellow eyes heavenward, hands out and beseeching the Powers for patience. "Just as well, I suppose—you'd only contradict my advice anyway, wouldn't you?"

"It's part of my mystique."

Blowing out a long breath, he raked fingers through his hair. "Have it your way. Just don't complain about the added danger."

Allura lifted her chin. "I never do."

That shut him up. After considering her proud, regal stance for a moment, Lotor awarded her a nod. "Well then, shall we unlock horns and separate now, or can you tolerate me a little longer? I did promise you language lessons."

"If I haven't vomited by now, I probably won't."

His smirk fell somewhere between an eight and nine on Lance's patented Kiss-My-Ass scale. "Good. I want you to learn quickly so you'll understand when the time comes."

Despite her better instincts, she swallowed the bait. "Understand what, dare I ask?"

"_Matal neés ue_. Or 'I told you so.' "

**A/N: Just so's you know, I'll be attempting NaNoWriMo for the first time ever this year, so there likely won't be another update until sometime in December at the earliest. If you want to talk or just hurl angry, flaming words at me you can always do so on the Book of Face, Twitter, or LiveJournal (the links are in my profile).**


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